


Accidents of Faith & Nature

by andachippedcup



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 13:59:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3122771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andachippedcup/pseuds/andachippedcup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>S3 midseason finale spoilers and S3B speculations ahead! </p><p>After learning of Oliver's death, Felicity mourns alone in the Foundry, only to learn that Oliver is still alive - though he is not the same man she remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accidents of Faith & Nature

_Oliver Queen is dead_.

Malcolm Merlyn's words still echoed in her head as Felicity finally powered down her computer station for the night. John and Roy had long since left, gone to deal with their grief as they saw fit. But Felicity had not been able to bring herself to leave.

As soon as she left, it would be real. The moment she stepped outside the Foundry, she would be walking around in a world that Oliver Queen no longer existed in and that thought? It was too much to even begin to process. So she had stayed in the place where they had passed so many hours, tapping numbly away at her keyboard as she finished sending off an anonymous tip to the SCPD regarding the whereabouts of some criminal or another.

All the while, she'd done her best not to let her gaze stray from the computer screen.

She'd failed miserably.

His suit hung in its glass case, waiting for him to return and don it once more. Half finished arrows sat in neat rows on trays at his work station, gleaming emerald tips just waiting to be fitted with shafts and fletching. His bed was pushed off to the side, neatly made just as he had left it. And then there was the fern. She'd bought the plant for him – a small gesture to bring some light (and fresh air) into the Foundry since he'd come to call it home.  He'd tended to it dutifully, though always when he thought she wasn't looking but she had always seen when he gave the plant fresh water or moved it so that it was closer to the nearest source of (fluorescent) light. He'd shook his head and laughed when he'd heard her refer to it by name (Ambrosia) but he'd shown the utmost of care with it and she'd known it had meant a great deal to him.

He was never going to see the fern again. Or any of it. He'd never fit another arrow to his bow. She'd never hear the gravelly tones of his altered 'Arrow' voice as he roared his trademark " _you have failed this city_ ". He'd never save her from danger again – and he would certainly never swing her to safety away from a landmine again. She would never again lay a reassuring hand upon him, or he upon her and _god how was she supposed to function knowing that?_

When her computer screen had gone dark and powered down at last, she rose and stared at the green leather suit. And if she half closed her eyes, she could pretend that the hood was casting shadows over his face and he was standing right here beside her.

She would have given _anything_ to have that be true. To have him here, next to her, even for just one minute would have been worth most any sacrifice. That she might have the chance to tell him what she had never found the courage and the time to say.

 _That she loved him_.

"I should have told you before you left." She whispered sadly, leaning her forehead against the cold glass of the case as the tears pricking her eyes finally won out and spilled over. Felicity longed to feel his embrace, already she desperately missed the comfort that his presence alone had always offered.

She wasn't sure what prompted her to do it; there had not been one single, coherent thought. One moment, she was crying over the case and the next, she was pulling the green leather jacket on and tucking her knees up to her chest so she could envelope herself in it. The leather was supple and cool to the touch, offering some small shred of familiarity and comfort as she let herself fall apart. Sobs wracked her figure in waves, ebbing and flowing as her grief found new ways of striking her.

Just when she'd think she'd cried all the tears she possibly could, some memory would find her – their kiss in the hospital, his words after he had saved her from The Count, him calling her remarkable – and her pain would come crashing back to her.

At some point she fell asleep – from exhaustion or sorrow, she wasn't sure which – and when she woke the next morning, she was on the floor of the Foundry, still clutching his jacket to her breast. And though she knew they were expecting her at work, she didn't stir, didn't even call in. She simply stayed there on the floor, weighed down by the most profound grief she had ever known.

\-----

She didn't move when she heard the Foundry door open; she was already too busy drowning in the ever deepening waters of her grief to care. There were only a handful of people that could possibly come down those stairs and nothing that John, Roy, or Laurel could possibly say would ease her heartache.

"I don't want to talk about it."She sniffed, aware that lashing out at her friends wouldn't make her feel better and certainly wouldn't bring Oliver back. But Felicity didn't want empty platitudes or hollow consolations. They were all grieving. She wanted to mourn him alone, with only her remorse for comfort.

"I didn't come to talk."

The voice was familiar and foreign all at once and she found herself flinching, her eyes widening in a flash as she scrambled to her feet, pulling herself up using the desk for assistance.

He stood before her in the same dark, long sleeved tee he'd departed in and for the barest of moments, it was as if no time had passed from when he had said those three words - _I love you_ – to now. It was only when she saw the blood stains across the chest of his shirt that she felt a distant flare of worry. Reaching for him, she gently pressed one palm against his chest to confirm that he was real and not some cruel hallucination her mind had created.

"O-Oliver?" She breathed, staring up at him in wonder.

It was only then, when she was close enough to look into his eyes, that she knew something was wrong. There was no gleam of recognition in his eyes, no warmth, no comfort to be had. A distinct trill of alarm flared within her at the realization, just before she felt his had enclose around her neck – and not in the form of a sweet caress.

" _You have failed this city._ " He growled, his grip around her throat tightening as he threw her down on the table, looming over her with wild eyes to match the crazed nature of his actions. Struggling weakly against him, she gripped his arm with both her hands, scrabbling for purchase to throw him off of her and coming up woefully short.

"Ol-iver," she gasped, her voice rasping as she struggled for air. "It's m-e. _Fel-Felicity._ " She coughed, planting the soles of her feet on his chest and straining in an effort to push him away, to no avail. Instead, he lifted her off of the table and threw her across the room, his eyes blazing.

"Don't you _dare_ say her name!" He roared, sweeping his hands over a nearby shelf and sending the contents clattering to the floor and prompting Felicity to duck beneath her arm, still spluttering and gasping for breath as he stormed near to her, the veins of his throat bulging as he yelled down at her.

" _You killed her!"_ He screamed the accusation, his voice quavering and his nostrils flared as he lifted his hands to tear at his too-short hair, his nails raking across his scalp instead. "I LOVED HER!" Oliver thundered in a rage, kicking her nearby chair. "And you _killed her_!"

"I-I didn't kill anyone. Oliver it's me. I'm right here. Look at me, _I'm Felicity_. I'm here. It's okay." She tried to comfort him, her voice trembling as she reached a hand towards him tenderly. Whatever Ra's al Ghul had done to him, she could fix it. She could help him. He wouldn't hurt her. He had told her he would never leave and here he was, back seemingly from the dead, his promise still unbroken. He would no more hurt her than he would Thea.

"You _are not_ Felicity." He shouted at her, violently disrupting her thoughts. "She's _dead_. Because of _you_." He screamed and despite herself, Felicity felt the urge to gently wipe away the tears trailing down his cheeks. For whatever reason, he wasn't seeing her. She had to make him see her.

"Oliver, you have to fight this, whatever Ra's al Ghul did to you, _fight it_. It's me. You have to remember. _Please_." She begged, willing him to remember. He'd said once that she was the first person he'd seen as a person after the island. Maybe she could be the first person he saw as a person once again.

"Remember the day that we met? I was chewing on a pen. _A red pen_." She whispered quickly, fearful of another outburst.

It was a fear that was quickly justified.

"STOP IT!" He shouted, grabbing her and dragging her onto her feet before he slammed her against the Foundry wall. Dazed, her vision swimming, she tried to make sense of what he was screaming at her.

"She was _good_. She didn't deserve to die and you killed her!" He accused.

"Oliver, please. I gave you that fern-"

"She suffered because of you."

"You saved me from The Count."

"She didn't want me to be a killer," Oliver breathed raggedly, his chest heaving and his body trembling with rage as his hand clenched more tightly about her neck, effectively cutting off her air supply. "She asked me not to kill and I stopped. For her. Because if she asked something of me, I did it." He panted, his face so close to hers that she could see the lines of red criss-crossing the whites of his bloodshot eyes.

"But because of you she's _gone_. So I have no reason to be that man anymore." He menaced, baring his teeth at her as he stared her down amid his wild rage. "You killed her. And now I'm killing you."

It happened faster than she could react; she didn't remember seeing him grab the sword that Malcolm Merlyn had left when he had told them Oliver was dead. But when the cold metal of the blade pierced her abdomen, Felicity's couldn't help but marvel at the fact that he had managed to grab his weapon unseen by her.

 _He always had been good with his hands_ , she thought dimly as she sank to the Foundry floor. The pain was overwhelming and already she felt the severity of her wound and knew how serious it was. As she watched, he knelt over her and pulled the blade from her body, the tip glinting with her blood.

_Well that couldn't be good._

Her eyes darted about wildly, seeking and finally finding her purse, which she knew contained her phone. If she could get to it, she could call Diggle and he might be able to get her help in time. Calling 911 was a moot point – they'd never make it into the Foundry. But Diggle could. And if he could get to her and get her to the main floor of the club, paramedics could get to her easily. She could survive this. She could be okay. With shaking hands, Felicity pulled her broken, bleeding body along the floor toward her purse, wincing as her body stretched and made her wound pull painfully.

A sudden noise brought her attention back to Oliver. She could see he was rifling through the trays on one of the nearby tables and as she focused, she saw he was loading his quiver with a measure of exploding arrows. Dimly, Felicity felt realization dawn on her. _He was going to go outside in this frenzied state. He could – and probably would – hurt people_.

She couldn't let him. He would have enough on his conscious already when he found his sanity again and learned he'd stabbed her. How much would he hate himself if he went on a killing spree of innocent people?

She wouldn't let that rest on his conscious.

Stopping her slow march to her phone, she altered her course, dragging herself towards one of the nearby cabinets. Pulling open a drawer as quietly as she could, she grabbed up a pair of tranquilizer arrow heads, clutching them tightly in her shaking hands.

She would stop him or die trying.

"I-I don't blame you." She whispered, feeling far away even in that moment, her voice a distant echo to her own ears. He half turned, but did not look at her and perhaps, she thought, it was better that way. If he ever awoke from whatever trance or frenzied state he was in, she didn't want him to have a memory of her like this, as she lay dying at his feet.

"I kn-ow you, Oliver," she panted, her free hand slick with blood as she used it to apply pressure to her wound, "-you'll b-blame yourself for this. D-Don't. It wasn't you. I know it wasn't." She breathed, looking up at him with eyes that had quickly turned glassy. She didn't have long – she could feel it. The blade must have pierced something vital. She wasn't sure what. Perhaps an abdominal artery. She'd bleed out quickly if that was the case. At least it would keep her suffering short. But it also meant she had to act quickly.

He came towards her slowly, his eyes still wild as he knelt before her, his expression twisted in rage as he reached a hand towards her shoulder, his fingers grasping at the leather of his jacket, which she still wore.

"You don't know anything about me. _She_ did." He growled, still too far gone in his crazed delusion to realize that the woman he loved was here, before him, and not dead as he seemed to believe.

But as his hand grasped her shoulder more tightly, she moved. With a sudden lunge, she buried the tip of the tranquilizer arrows into his bicep. He roared and shoved her away from him, stumbling backward before grasping at the arrows and wrenching them from his body and casting them aside.

Felicity, dizzy from blood loss and from striking her head when he'd thrown her back, found it difficult to focus on him as he loomed over her. She could see the tranquilizer slowly taking effect as he struggled for balance and finally collapsed beside her. He was fighting the medication – she'd assumed that whatever it was that had made him lose his mind would probably be strong enough that one dose wouldn't cut it, thus her use of two tranq arrows. And a good thing too; she couldn't feel her feet anymore and even her hands felt numb and detached. She doubted she could have crawled over to her phone to call for help now. She felt so tired and so weak already.

But as he started to fade in and out of consciousness, she saw the change come over him. His eyes temporarily cleared as he stared at her, and she could see pain and fear replace the hysteria that had shone out from his blue eyes only minutes ago.

"I-I'm so… so sorry…" He gasped quietly  from his spot on the floor a few feet from her but Felicity shook her head slowly to dispel his apologies.

"I should have told you before you left," she whispered, her eyes feeling heavy and every move of her lips requiring gargantuan effort, "-but I love you, Oliver." She smiled and gave a rasping laugh that sent her to coughing and wheezing. "And this is probably the worst time to tell you that but I n-never say the right thing when I'm supposed to, do I?" She half coughed, half laughed as she sank against the cabinet behind her a little more, no longer in possession of the energy necessary to hold herself up.

The pain was gone; that was probably bad, she decided. Judging by the blood pooling around her, she'd lost at least a liter – probably more. Her breathing was fast and shallow and she could feel unconsciousness looming and yet she fought it off. If she was dying she had to impress upon him that she didn't blame him for it. It wasn't really him that had done it – not that that small technicality would matter to him. He'd hate himself for what he'd done and knowing him, he'd spiral into a deep, dark place.

And she couldn't have him do that. Not over her.

"Felicity, I-I…." he began, and this time the voice was his, was _her Oliver,_ not the crazed one that had stabbed her. His voice was faint and quavering as he looked at her and she realized that she must look like something straight out of a horror movie if she was scaring Oliver Queen.

"I love you and I still believe in you." She breathed as he stared at her, his pupils dilated as he reached a hand out for her. Keeping one hand over her wound, she reached her free hand for his, taking small comfort in the touch as his fingers knitted through hers. As his eyes grew heavy and fluttered open and closed, she spoke her one last, crucial message to him.

"And you still aren't done fighting."

His eyes stayed on her for a moment more and then his head slumped forward as he passed out, the tranquilizers having done their job well. Suddenly alone and keenly aware that her time left was probably best measured in seconds, Felicity held tight to his hand. Memories assaulted her in flashes, a life half lived already come to a close. She saw her mother, the day she'd gotten her acceptance letter to MIT. Her first day working at QC. But the last memories Felicity Smoak saw were of Oliver Queen. Oliver kissing her lips, Oliver kissing her forehead, Oliver proclaiming his love for her.

And as she sank into the waiting embrace of unconsciousness, Felicity had no regrets.

\-----

He'd awoken hours later to the memory of Felicity's eyes flaring wide as the sword had cut through her, the graceful way she'd sank to the floor, the cold metal buried in her gut. The images were burned into his brain as he bolted awake, screaming her name in horror.

As he looked around from his vantage on the Foundry floor though, he saw that the images were no creation of his brain in some cruel nightmare, but were in fact memories based on truth. The proof, if he'd needed any, was there before him.

She had collapsed to the floor, the gold of her hair encircling her like a halo. Red blood pooled around her in stark contrast to the green of his jacket, which she still wore about her shoulders. Oliver scrambled to her and fell to his knees, his mouth agape as a hundred silent screams poured out of him.

Trembling hands hovered over her body, terrified to touch her and terrified not to. One shaking palm came to press against her wound, as though to staunch bleeding that had long since stopped. His free hand went to her throat, pressing two fingers to the point at which her pulse should have been.

There was nothing there.

"No. _NO_. Felicity, please. Please, no. _God no_." He pleaded as his fingers moved across her cold skin, frantically searching for a pulse at her wrist and when he found none, switching to the other wrist. She couldn't be. Felicity Smoak could not be dead. He leaned over her face, praying he'd feel the soft gust of her breathing but no such sign of life greeted him.

"Please, Felicity." He begged, pulling her slight frame into his arms, careful to cradle her head against his chest. Despite his begging, her head lolled to the side lifelessly, her blue eyes dull with no sign of her usual fire, no intelligent gleam or teasing sparkle.

Her light – the light which he had always looked to – had been extinguished. And he had been the one to do it. For all his efforts to keep her safe, he had been unable to protect her from the greatest danger she had ever faced – _himself_.

He could hear the sound of Roy and Diggle's feet on the stairs as they walked slowly into the Foundry, expecting to find a grief stricken Felicity. Instead, they found a grief stricken Oliver, covered in Felicity's blood and clutching her body to his chest.

Dimly, Oliver was aware of Diggle making a soft noise of agony as he took in the scene before him, setting aside the bag from Big Belly Burger that he'd brought with him, intended to help Felicity cope.

"O-Oliver-" Diggle choked out, disbelief and pain in his voice.

"We have to call 911." Oliver whimpered, lifting his gaze to search for Diggle, pleading with his friend. "She can't be, John. She can't be. They have to save her."

Wordlessly, John knelt beside Oliver and touched his fingers to Felicity's neck as Oliver had only minutes ago, feeling for the pulse that Oliver, deep down, knew he wouldn't find.

"Oliver….Oliver she's gone." John choked out and Oliver shook his head, oblivious to the tears running down his cheeks until he saw the tears that had fallen from his face and onto hers.

"No. No, she can't be. I… I didn't mean to. I didn't know." Oliver gasped between sobs, lowering his face to hers until their foreheads touched. Slowly, he rocked forward and backward with her body, silently praying and pleading and begging for her to awaken. He was supposed to be the one to die, it was _he_ that was meant to pay that ultimate price – not her. _Never_ her.

He missed the exchange of alarmed expressions between Roy and Diggle, didn't see the way they grabbed up the sword, still red with her blood, and carefully repositioned themselves between him and any weapons. Oliver missed all of it, too fixated on Felicity's body to care.

" _Please come back to me_." He whispered in her ear, his tears falling on her pale skin and eliciting no response. His light, his hope, his love – was gone. _"I love you."_

He clutched her to him, refusing to let Diggle take her away. The idea of bringing her to the morgue, or to the police, was still too painful. They would lay her on a cold metal table, tie a tag to her toe and that would be it. Felicity Smoak would cease to exist the moment her status in the world changed to 'deceased'. They'd lay her in the ground.

 _Oh god_.

Memories of Sara's small burial returned to him, the image of Felicity grabbing that first handful of dirt to throw upon the casket. Could he find the strength to bury her? To lay her in the cold, hard ground and never again see that smile or watch her nudge those dark frames up on her nose? He'd never hear her voice again, never listen to one of her babbling rants or see her chew on a pen again.

"She's dead, Digg." He choked out at last, lifting his eyes from her sightless ones to find his friend standing behind him. Without a word, Diggle knelt alongside Oliver, one hand on Oliver's back and the other reaching for Felicity. Gently, his fingers pressed her eyelids closed, forever hooding her once bright eyes. And even as Oliver wept, he felt the prick of the tranquilizer arrow as Diggle jabbed him with it. This time, Oliver welcomed the darkness and the reprieve from his grief that it offered.

\-----

The funeral was a somber affair. It was well attended – but then, he'd never doubted that it would be. Felicity had been a well loved person. Roy and Diggle had allowed him out of the ARGUS cell he'd been confined to once a doctor had declared him free from whatever Lazarus Pit-induced craze he'd been in but the two had still kept a close watch on him, never leaving him unsupervised for fear he might relapse. Even here, at the funeral, he could feel their hawk like gazes on him, lest he go crazy here and kill the mourners of the woman whose death he'd already brought on.

Oliver didn't blame them – he didn't trust himself anymore than they did. He had killed the one woman who had always believed in him, never losing faith even when he had been undeserving of her loyalty. If he could kill someone so pure and good, then he truly was a monster.

He felt like even more of a monster for showing his face here, in truth. But Roy and Diggle had insisted that his absence would be the far more monstrous act – Felicity would have wanted him there and it was that fact alone that had seen him get out of bed to face this dark day.

Diggle and Lyla had attended with little Sara; Roy, with Thea offering silent comfort alongside him. Laurel and Quentin had shown up and Oliver couldn't help but wonder if the Lance family would ever stop having to attend funerals – it seemed to him they'd had more than their fair share. Barry and Felicity's other Central City friends Iris, Eddie, Caitlin, Cisco, and Dr. Wells had also shown up, all dressed in black; Iris and Caitlin had cried vigorously, Oliver had noted. Ray Palmer had been in attendance, along with some of Felicity's former coworkers from the IT Department. Walter had come too, offering Oliver and Thea encouraging embraces. Then there had been her family and friends.

Donna Smoak had been inconsolable, sitting in the front row all dressed in black, a constant stream of tears running down her face. Oliver hadn't been able to bring himself to talk to mother of the woman he had loved and killed. He doubted he could look her in the eyes and offer his condolences when he knew that he was responsible for Felicity's death - even if she didn't.

He had been thankful for the closed casket; he was certain that looking at her pale, unseeing face would have sent him reeling back into the blind grief that had seen him unable to leave his bed for days. And now was not the time for him to express his own pain. This was about doing right by Felicity, about comforting those that had loved her. He owed her that much (and more).

He watched as the Jewish mourners had the black ribbons attached to their clothes ripped to signal that they were in mourning. The symbolism was not lost on him and with each tear that was made, he felt the tear in his heart grow, keenly aware that he was responsible for their grief.

Just as Felicity had done at Sara's burial, the mourners lined up to help cast dirt over the simple wooden casket. Oliver had known this was coming, had known thanks to Felicity herself that this was Jewish custom but it still hurt more than he had expected. When all the others had taken their turn, Oliver stepped up and took the shovel in his hands, his grip white knuckled as he scooped up the fresh, dark earth and shoveled it over the box that held her now and for the rest of time.

He couldn't bring himself to stop. Shovelful after shovelful, he filled in her grave, determined that no stranger be the one to put her truly to rest. He had shrugged quickly out of his jacket and by the time he was a quarter of the way done, he could feel the sweat making his shirt cling to his body but he didn't stop.

He was dimly aware of Roy stepping up alongside him, using another shovel to assist him, followed quickly after by Diggle. Together, the three men piled the dirt over the casket, until at last the fresh turned earth formed a neat heap over her final resting place. Dropping his shovel, Oliver knelt down over the dirt pile, bowing his head as he openly wept.

A pair of hands landed on his shoulders and when he looked up, he had been expecting Thea or perhaps Laurel. Instead, he found himself face to face with the woman he had so intently avoided. Donna Smoak's eyes were teary as she stared tenderly at Oliver, offering him a watery smile.

"She loved you very much, you know." She whispered softly, taking one of Oliver's hands in hers and giving it a warm squeeze. Oliver felt his throat go dry, overcome with pain as Donna Smoak unwittingly spoke so kindly to her daughter's murderer.  _If only she knew._

'She deserved a lot better than me." He finally offered, sniffing quietly as he stared at the rich brown earth before them. Donna pressed her fingers to his chin and forced him to look her in the eyes before giving a solemn shake of her head.

"Oh no, honey. I knew the first time I saw you two together; you loved her every bit as much as she loved you. That kind of love? It's rare. She was lucky to love you and to be loved by you." She assured him and Oliver felt something in him break.

"Felicity…was remarkable." Oliver swallowed back the pain of referring to her in the past tense, his brows knitting together with the pain of that effort. Donna Smoak smiled at his words, tearing up anew as she looked at him.

"She said the very same thing about you, Oliver." Donna whispered, patting his arm reassuringly. Without another word, the blonde rose to her feet, Oliver's arm still in her grasp as she pulled him up in tow. Then, arm in arm, they walked away from Felicity Smoak's final resting place.

Oliver looked back as they walked, aware that Felicity might be at rest but that his heart would never find peace. Peace, he knew, had died along with her. She'd used her last breaths to tell him he wasn't done fighting and he knew, knew deep in his bones, that for as long as he lived, he would keep fighting. Until the day they laid him in the ground, he would fight.

For her. He would always fight.


End file.
